A New Age
by Bevin
Summary: Set after the end of the series. When you've accomplished your dreams, what do you do with the rest of your life? Eventual SxN, implied UxK, some darker themes.
1. Prologue

_A.N.: Hi, this is the teaser to a story I've been working on for over a year now. It'll be sort of long and while I haven't completely finished it yet, I do know what's going to happen, so suggestions, while appreciated, probably won't be used. This is basically a "what if" story, one my brain came up with while thinking about the end of the series and what might happen afterwards. Not what I think will happen, but a possibility, I guess. If this is what Oda decided to do with it, I'd probably be disappointed. Anyway, it's something I needed to write, I guess, and if anyone else gets anything out of it, then that's a bonus. Comments and critiques are encouraged (provided they're constructive; "you suck" really doesn't help me, I need to know why, so be specific), and thanks for reading. Rating for swearing (it's Sanji, how could there not be swearing?), some mature themes later on, and generally being slightly more morose and less cheerful than the actual series. Sorry in advance._

"Over the bridge we go  
Looking for love"  
– "New Age"  
Velvet Underground

The tiny island of Cocoyashi had sat for years, undiscovered by most of the rest of the world in the western part of East Blue. It had taken a now legendary fight to garner the notice of the pirate-watchers who came in droves to see the place where Arlong had fallen to an unknown upstart. They had come for the novelty, but they came back for the warm breeze, the white sand, and the friendly locals. When that young upstart had somehow managed to claim the title of Pirate King, a title previously left unfilled in the wake of the great Gol D Roger, it seemed that the tourist business had picked up almost overnight. This tiny island, once caught in the grip of evil, its inhabitants barely scraping by, was now a thriving seat of overpriced shops, fine dining, and screaming toddlers with sunburnt parents. Gosa Village harbored the most tourists, having been destroyed not long before the man who would be Pirate King had come, and still showed some of its scars in the historical district. No one payed as much attention to the tiny village of Cocoyashi, only a few miles away, which was how the residents seemed to want it anyway. Gosa was where the action had happened and was within easy walking distance from the ruins of Arlong Park.

Besides, Gosa had bar none the best restaurant on the island. There were rumors that the owners had been pirates under the infamous Luffy, but no one really believed it; what would two ex-pirates be doing running a restaurant in a place like that? No, it was just something to titillate the kids and keep them from acting up too much at the table._ Behave yourself or the pirates will get you_, their parents would say, hiding smiles behind their menus. The real draw was the dish selection– dishes from all over the world, some places most people had never even heard of, but they were all first-rate faire. No pirate could possibly cook like that, it was ludicrous. Of course, if anyone had expressed that thought to one of the wait staff, it would have earned them an incredulous look; if they'd felt that man's foot connect to their head, they might have been forced to rethink their assessment. Normal people couldn't kick like that. Of course, of the two owners it was better by far to take the kick from their head chef than to face the woman. She was scarier than any pirate they could think of but she ran a good restaurant and when all was said and done, most of them wouldn't dream of working anywhere else.


	2. We Never Change

"Oh and I don't have a show to say,  
Yes, and I sin every single day,  
We never change, do we?  
We never learned to leave."  
–Coldplay

It was an unusually busy Friday afternoon for the off-season, a surprise winter storm having waylaid a cruise ship for a day or so, and the _Maison Bleu_'s wait staff was already understaffed for the regular crowd. The head chef had taken over a few tables, since his sous chef had insisted she had everything under control in the kitchen, and things had begun to calm down by the time the pretty redhead all but yanked him back into the kitchen with a cheery smile that lasted only as long as the visibility of the customers.

"Damn it, Sanji, this is the last time I'd better find you out on the floor flirting with any giggling bimbo you lay your eyes on! You stay in here and cook, that's what you're paid to do, am I clear?"

Even after all the years they'd known one another, Nami's ability to verbally gut someone like a fish could leave him impressed and somewhat cowed. He really wished she'd stop doing it in front of the staff quite so much, though.

"But Nami-san," was his almost petulant reply, "the money comes out of my paycheck-- I don't see why it matters how the food is payed for."

"It matters, Sanji-_kun_," the last word was emphasized in such a way that several of the eavesdropping chefs winced and thanked their deity of choice that they weren't the ones in his place, "because when you give free food away to people for no good reason, they tend to expect the same treatment when they come back. When there isn't a repeat performance they tend not to come back. It hurts business. It makes us look unprofessional. It keeps you from being in here _doing your job_. And worst of all, it costs me money. That's why it matters and that's why this is going to be the last time it happens, yes?"

The mention of the "m" word promptly sealed the fate of Sanji's end of the conflict and he sighed in resignation. "Yes, ma'am."

Relaxing only slightly, Nami turned and huffed her way back to the swinging doors leading out to the patrons, smoothing her already wrinkle-free skirt and brushing some stray hair away from her face as she did so. As co-owner of the restaurant, she spent most of her time flitting from table to table like a butterfly to make sure everyone was enjoying their meal and establishing a more personal connection with them-- laughing at their jokes, visiting, playing the hostess. It was a job that she felt was essential to engendering loyal customers and repeat business and one that Sanji had always felt was unnecessary; if they liked the food they'd come back, it was that simple. But it made her happy, so far be it from him to spoil it for her.

"Hey, Head Chef," called a voice from the cacophony of various cooking dishes, "if you're done standing around we could use a few more hands here." One of the tables had evidently ordered enough food for a week and it looked like things on the floor were slow enough for the waiters to keep up for a while without his help.

"Sure," he said, giving in to the second woman to berate him in as many minutes. Not that he really minded this time; Daisy was a good sous chef and knew her way around a kitchen like no one else, but she only had so many hands. "What do we need done?" he asked, striding over to take a look at the current orders.

"I've got a chicken with no Marsala sauce, a salmon that needs filleting, and about four orders of the lobster cakes, take your pick and go." Her pan was emptied onto a nearby plate and refilled with more boiled rice and assorted chopped vegetables with an expert rhythm that was only gained through extensive experience. Not for the first time did he mentally thank Nami for finding this woman– she was utterly invaluable in these situations, a total professional who kept her head in a rush and maintained her quality while beating the clock. "So," she said after a moment, the grin in her voice unmistakable, "I take it her dinner date didn't go well."

Sanji grunted in non-committal. Occasionally businessmen from other areas would come in for dinner and want to talk shop with the owner of the restaurant. Since Sanji was always needed in the kitchen and he had little interest in the financial affairs of his own restaurant, let alone anyone else's venue, Nami always wound up fielding them. She had never seemed to mind before now, but lately she'd been getting grumpier and grumpier with each date she went on.

"How many times is this that she's chewed you out in front of the staff?" Daisy went on, breaking him out of his mental tunnel vision.

"This week or in total?" The mixture of mushrooms, wine, chicken stock and butter in his pan simmered in front of him.

"This week."

"Four, I think." Shit he wanted a cigarette. Next to him, Daisy looked at him for the first time in their conversation, flashing a wicked grin in the process.

"Should we be expecting a fifth or have we hit your limit?"

He flashed his own grin in response. "How can I refuse a beautiful woman, especially one in distress?"

"From the check?"

"Even ladies with tastes that overreach their wallets," he corrected, dishing the reheated chicken from the pan and drizzling the chestnut-colored sauce in an aesthetic pattern over it.

Shaking her head, Daisy emptied her pan for the second time and grabbed a boning knife from a nearby drawer. "Well as long as you don't run us out of business I guess it's not my place to say anything. I don't see how you can afford it, though." Salmon bone was thrown in the trash and the fillet was seasoned and put in the oven before she joined him at the counter to get elbow-deep in shredded lobster.

"Don't worry, I could give away twice as many meals and we'd still make a profit. Nami-san just doesn't like parting with money she doesn't feel she has to." He topped a plate with a carefully placed garnish and handed off to a nearby waiter, who in turn handed him a new order. "Personally, it's never mattered much to me."

---

The busboys were turning the chairs up and sweeping the last of the grit from the floor when Sanji finally emerged from the kitchen that day. Tossing a good-natured wave to the rest of the exhausted employees cleaning up and counting their tips, he made his way over to the pimply-faced kid trying valiantly to get a marinara stain out of a tablecloth.

"Yo, Gary."

"Last I saw her she was in the office," the kid answered the forthcoming question without even looking up from his project. Of course, far be it from Nami to just buy a new tablecloth and save the lad some work, but Gary insisted that he didn't mind the menial little chores. Of course he didn't, Sanji couldn't help but grump inwardly– he was young, ambitious, enthusiastic, and would suck up desperately to Nami every time she was around. Liked to question Sanji's authority in front of the others, too, which was earning him some black marks in the head chef's book, but he had to hand it to the kid– he knew how to take a firm kick and get back up.

"Thanks. Don't stay too late with that."

"I won't." He could hear the smirk in the younger man's voice. "Don't let her give you too much grief."

Sanji just grunted in response and longed for a cigarette with every step he took down the hallway to the office. What the hell kind of a name was Gary, anyway? Kid sure didn't seem like a Gary to him. Must have come from stupid parents.

He didn't actually think Nami would still be there that late, but it never hurt to check anyway. Much to his surprise, he found her bent over the desk, her glasses on, pen in one hand, head resting on the other, pouring over the budget book with much the same air that she had her navigation maps once upon a time. For just an instant he could feel the floor rock in time with the ocean and his hand felt empty without a tray loaded with a special blended drink or some fancy dessert for her.

"You just going to hover in the doorway or are you coming in?" The floor stopped rocking and the only thing his hand itched for was a cigarette.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him in response to her indirect order, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"You've been here the whole time?"

She grunted in reply, still frowning intently at the numbers before her.

"There a problem?" That earned him a look. "With the books," he clarified, not wanting that frown pointed in his direction. If she'd been going over things for this long there must have been a doozy of an error in there, which might also explain her mood. Staring at numbers for hours on end wasn't a way he'd ever want to spend a Friday night either.

Bumping her glasses up slightly as she pinched the bridge of her nose and, squeezing her eyes closed, she nodded. "We're spending more on food than we should be but I can't figure out where it's all going. Even taking your free meal program into account," she punctuated that with a particularly stinky look, "the numbers don't add up. I just can't see the problem for some reason." Rubbing her eyes, she straightened up and stretched her neck, a slight grimace playing over her features. He didn't even want to think of how long she'd been sitting hunched over like that because of what was probably a minor discrepancy in the bookkeeping. Honestly, that woman was going to kill herself over money at this rate, and not very much money at that.

"Nami-san, you should go home and get some sleep. Maybe tomorrow you'll find the problem, but right now–" His sentence was cut off by a tiny noise from his business partner as she sat, attempting to massage her neck. She must have really been absorbed in it because she jolted when his fingers brushed her hair aside, despite the fact that he'd walked all the way around the desk to get to her in the first place.

"You have been doing this way too long," he admonished gently as she relaxed and submitted to his attention. She responded with a noise that was caught halfway in between a grunt of acknowledgment and a groan of pleasure and he did his best to ignore the sensation of swallowing around a tongue that seemed far too big for his mouth. He could remember a time not that many years distant where he wouldn't have dared try this without express permission first, but now it wasn't unusual. He'd long ago become accustomed to the idea of being firmly planted in the "Friend Zone", which allowed him the ability to give her a massage but the pricewas it would never be anything more than that.

"Mmmmm, down a bit," she murmured, arching her back a little under his administrations. "Over, over, over– _there..._" and she bit down on a lower moan when he hit the right spot. There was no longer enough saliva left in his mouth to swallow and he deliberately shifted his thoughts to the menu for the next day, going over recipes step-by-step and definitely not thinking of how smooth and cool her skin was nor was he noticing how her neck curved so elegantly with her hair parted over either side or those little noises she was making in the back of her throat. He did, however, notice how uncomfortably warm it was getting in there and how difficult it was to hear what she was saying with all that blood pounding in his ears...

"Sanji," her irritated tone cut through some of the fog in his head, "are you even listening to me?"

"Of course!" he responded automatically.

"I said you can stop now, it feels much better."

There was an uncomfortable pause as his brain attempted to process this and then as he removed his hands and tried his best not to look as sheepish as he felt. "Of course, Nami-san. Sorry."

She sighed, turning towards him with a smile on her face despite the exasperated noise. "Thank you. It really does feel better."

"Of course. Anytime." Her smile was lovely no matter how brief, and it had been far, far too long since he'd seen it pointed his way. "Well, I have to be going." He very reluctantly circled back around the desk and headed for the door, cursing that wonderful moment's lousy sense of timing as he went. "I have a date."

Startled, Nami's head whipped up from the book to look at him. "A date? I thought you weren't seeing Sophie anymore."

"I'm not," he replied nonchalantly, opening the door. He paused briefly on the other side to smile at her. "Goodnight, Nami-san." The door closed behind him and she heard his footsteps fade down the hall.

"Goodnight," she told the empty room.

---

Even the winter nights in Cocoyashi never got all that cold; the temperature might drop into the low seventies or so but it rarely got below mid-sixties. It was the rain and thunderstorms that tricked most of the tourists; storms would blow their way up from colder climates and, though not usually dangerous, they could certainly bring the temperature down in a hurry. At the moment it wasn't raining, but it was likely it would soon-- the sky was overcast all the way to the horizon, casting the normally bright turquoise ocean beneath it in matching gray. Which just made the nicotine taste all the sweeter, in his opinion.

Inhaling another drag, Sanji couldn't believe how long he'd managed to go without it; he just didn't feel complete without a cigarette in his mouth or his hand or at the very least in his pocket. Damn if this lapse wasn't going to make it harder to give it up again but at the moment all he cared about was that soothing, calming smoke flowing in and out of this chest. That is until he heard the door behind him close; then all he cared about was the fit he was going to be on the receiving end of as soon as Nami saw him.

To his immeasurable relief, it wasn't his partner he found standing behind him, but his assistant head chef, a look of surprise already halfway melted into displeasure and disappointment. He felt a sheepish and hopefully charming smile curl its way around both cigarettes held loosely at his lips as relief flooded him that he could continue his guilty pleasure a while longer.

"You going to rat me out?" he asked. Daisy pondered it for a moment, looking none too pleased in the interim, but finally she deflated.

"No," she shook her head rather sadly, "just don't make a habit out of this, okay? I don't want to lose my job over your lack of self control."

"She wouldn't fire you over this," he frowned, confused at how off-base that statement was and how unlike her it was to be so. Sure one of their newer waitresses had gotten fired recently, but it had had more to do with her being clumsy and short-tempered with customers than his lapses of judgement or self-control.

"Maybe." She eyed the two stubby cigarettes in his mouth with a cocked eyebrow. She'd only seen him sneak a cigarette twice before in the two years she'd worked with him, and they'd both been after particularly harrowing nights; the first of which involved repairing hurricane damage to the restaurant and his apartment above it, and the other had been after his girlfriend had left him. He'd chain-smoked so much after that she'd expected him to spew little flecks of ash when he spoke on the rare occasion he didn't have a cigarette in his mouth-- not even Nami had had the heart to get him to stop for three weeks. But not even then had she ever witnessed him smoking two at a time. "Was it that bad?"

Smoke curled comfortingly around his head and he exhaled heavily as he turned back to the view of the ocean. "You have no idea," he replied, gazing out at the expanse of water before him and not seeing it.

"Funny, she didn't seem that angry." He could tell she was fussing with her jacket behind him and he had to suppress the urge to offer to help her. Daisy wasn't an unattractive woman, in her late twenties with a light build and coloring to match– pale skin, pale hair, pale eyes– and an iron will unusual in someone her age that tended to give the illusion of an iron jaw to match. He liked her a great deal and had it not been for her possessive boyfriend, he most likely would have asked her out when they'd first started working together. Thankfully that hadn't happened and his little crush had mellowed out into a comfortable friendship that helped ease the tension of work at times. He'd also learned long ago that Daisy liked to tie her own coat and had once sported the black eye to prove it..

"You off somewhere?" she asked. He turned to see her motion to his takeout bag inquisitively. He always took leftovers home, and one table had wound up leaving practically half their order tonight. However, he rarely bothered to take so little in a bag since he lived over the restaurant, which probably meant he was headed out.

"Yeah," he finished both cigarettes and flicked them one by one off the landing where they plopped into the sea, "got a date." He picked up the bag and offered her an elbow. "Want me to walk you home?"

She shook her head and a gust of wind blew her dishwater hair a little. "No thanks. Have fun." A date after midnight meant he probably would.

Shrugging, he let his arm drop and skipped down the wooden stairs, tossing a 'good night' over his shoulder, and carefully skirted a large mud puddle at the bottom.

Daisy watched his retreating form and shook her head. "Idiot," she muttered to his back as he disappeared around a corner. A few scattered drops of rain spattered on the awning overhead to which she opened her umbrella, then she too set off into the evening.


	3. Parasol

"I have no need  
for a sea view  
for a sea view  
I have no need  
I have my little  
pleasures  
this wall being one of these"

–Tori Amos

Several winter storms had come and gone by the time the big one hit. Icy winds brought even icier rain in torrents to the tiny island, doubtless an impressive blizzard over places with a cooler natural climate. There was usually one storm like this every few years, one that ripped a few roofs off, did some minor structural damage, maybe even uprooted a few trees. Which was exactly what Nami was afraid of as she made her way through the late morning streets of Cocoyashi Village.

The restaurant wouldn't be open that day, not with so many people, employees and patrons alike, staying home to repair damage and be with their loved ones. Honestly, Nami was a little grateful for the chance to get away from the ledger for a while, especially if it meant escaping Sanji's nagging her to do so. She slept in, took her time eating her breakfast, and best of all, got to wear something comfortable and fun; jeans and fitted tee shirts with snappy logos didn't exactly convey the sort of professional ambiance she insisted on at work.

But at the moment her mind wasn't on the restaurant or her wardrobe, it was on the tiny house just outside the town and its single occupant.

Finding her sister bent over a section of dirt under a row of trees out back, Nami saw that some of the drainage trenches had collapsed in the rain. The knees of Nojiko's pants were stained with mud and grass and she had smudges of dirt up her arms and face so it seemed pretty likely that she'd been at this task for several hours already with who knew how many left ahead of her.

"So, where's that useless apprentice of yours?"

Nojiko turned to see her sister slipping her sandals off and kneeling down in the mud the next row over, getting right to work. Smiling, she returned to her own row.

"He's helping Mrs Turner with her leaky roof right now, he'll be back in a bit. What are you doing out today? Shouldn't you be chained to your accounts book in a dingy room somewhere?"

Nami laughed a little under her breath, remembering how many times she'd performed this task on this exact patch of land over the years. "Probably. I decided to come see how you were doing instead."

Now it was Nojiko's turn to laugh a little. "Well thanks for the thought. Hope you didn't have plans for later."

---  
Shadows were long by the time they had undone nature's damage, and both sisters were covered in dried mud and sweat as they trudged into the tiny house. Nami flopped into a chair and rested her head on the table while Nojiko filled her worn kettle with water and set it on the burner.

"I can't believe I used to do that every year," came a muffled voice from the recesses of Nami's folded arms, "I'm exhausted."

"You got soft sitting behind a desk the past few years," came her sister's response. "Green or chamomile?"

"Chamomile. That restaurant... I swear, sometimes I don't know which one of us is really running things. I don't even know how long it's been since I spent that much time outside." Her head lifted and she regarded one of her mud-encrusted hands thoughtfully. "It felt good."

The clinking of ceramic mugs signaled that the tea was almost ready and Nami hoisted herself up and walked to the bathroom to wash her hands and face.

"Well you're more than welcome to help out more often," her sister's voice wafted in from the other room, "though I doubt Chabo'd appreciate you taking his job."

Nami snickered as she re-entered the main room. "Don't think because you're family I'll give you a discount, my time's expensive."

The tanned woman smirked as she handed her sister a mug of tea. "I'd expect my money's worth, then. Just because you're family, don't expect me to go easy on you."

"It seems our negotiations have reached a standstill, then." Sipping from her mug, Nami took her usual seat at the table. What was it about chamomile that took the knots out of her arms and the tension out of her back just like that? She'd meant to ask Chopper what went into the stuff years ago, back on the _Merry_, but it had never seemed as important as the chaos that passed for everyday life at the time and she'd always figured she'd ask later. One of many things she'd always figured she'd have time for later. Maybe she should include it in her next correspondence to the little doc--

Her eyes opened from her nostalgic reverie to find her sister contemplating her with that scrutinizing look of hers, the one that always seemed a little suspicious.

"So how's the boy with the floppy hair these days?"

"Sanji's fine, getting back into dating, I guess, so that's good. Speaking of which, that businessman from the Red Line's back again and getting more persistent about dinner."

"My sister the heartbreaker."

"Well I _am_ quite a catch."

"And modest as always," her sister smirked over the rim of her mug.

"Ha! I'm just honest." She'd never understood the bizarre mating ritual engaged in by most of her gender where they pretended not to know they were attractive when someone pointed it out. Fishing for compliments was hardly a sport she cared to waste any time on and false modesty just raised her hackles. Why should she have to put on a show for the sake of making her date feel good?

"You going to take him up on it?" And milk him for everything he was worth in the bargain, as had been Nami's standard for years.

Nami made a disinterested noise and looked out the window. "Money I have on my own. Time is something I can't get back and I prefer to spend it on people I like." The bark of laughter from the other side of the table brought her attention back to her sister and she raised an eyebrow at the unexpected reaction. "What's so funny about that?"

"Nothing," Nojiko said, smiling, "you just sounded so much like her right then, all you needed was a cigarette hanging out of your mouth to complete the effect."

Nami laughed at that and sipped her tea. Strange how the memory of a person could fade and then be brought back so abruptly with a phrase or a smell or even a gesture, and then it was as though no time at all had passed. For a split second, she imagined that if she were to turn around, she'd see her there at the stove, apron tied loosely around her waist, the smell of cooking food and cigarette smoke hanging in the air, humming something under her breath. Then the moment passed, leaving only a bittersweet aftertaste and the dull ache of an old wound.

"We should do this more often."

"Yeah." She'd always meant to come over more, she just never seemed to have the time.

Nami ran her fingers over the old scars on the tabletop, so familiar she didn't need to look down to know what they were anymore. That compass icon was over twenty years old now, the letters of her name etched with fingers still relatively new to them. Funny how one so rarely looked up from the present to notice the passage of time, and what a shocking sight it was when you found that first gray hair or noticed your favorite pair of pants didn't fit the way they used to or realized how much the people around you had changed when they said something like 'we should go our separate ways' or 'I have a date'.

"You're miles away today, you know that?"

Nami looked over at her sister, jolted out of her thoughts. "Sorry, I guess I'm a little more preoccupied than I thought."

"I noticed," Nojiko smirked. "Mal and I are going out with some friends later, did you want to come along? Maybe have some fun, take your mind off things?"

She considered it briefly. "No, that's all right, thanks, I don't think I'm very good company tonight. Probably just catch up on a little paperwork at the restaurant tonight." There was too much to let go for a whole day, she'd just wind up staying extra late the next night if she skipped entirely.

"Well all right, but you're always more than welcome to come along, you know."

"I know, thanks." She also knew that Nojiko and Genzo worried about her not having many friends or much of a social life outside of work, and it was sweet, but she wasn't really unhappy with her life.

---  
It was sometime after midnight, she knew, and the room was completely dark. Her back hurt from being slumped over the desk, the papers her head had been resting on were now slightly damp under her cheek, her pen was still in her fingers, and now her lamp wick had burned down sometime while she'd slept. She really had been doing this too often, that wick was only about two weeks old and only the third one she'd had to put in that lamp since the restaurant had opened. So much for keeping expenses down.

Unsticking her face from the top report and digging her emergency candles out of her desk drawer, she decided it was time to stop working for the night and go home to her soft, comfortable bed. And empty refrigerator, her stomach reminded her, and a bathroom she hadn't had time to really clean in two weeks, and big empty rooms, and long empty hallways, and too many mementoes from years gone by to keep her company and make her remember a time when she longed for quiet and solitude to get her work done. Now that was all she had.

Oh well, she thought, gathering her things up and putting them away. No use crying for the past– she'd learned long ago it didn't do any good. Best to just keep marching forward and eventually good things would come again.

Nature rewarded her optimism by unleashing a thunderclap so loud it literally rattled the building. Taking a candle and going to the front room, she peered out into the gloom outside the large picture windows to see rain pouring down in buckets. Her cozy bed seemed almost like a quest to get to now, fraught with peril and challenges to tax the most stalwart of heroes, and she just didn't have the energy to deal with one of those that night. Fortunately for her, she had an alternative.

---  
The first thing he became aware of was there was a noise coming from somewhere. The longer he lay in bed, staring blearily at the wall of his room, the more sounds he heard, though none of them were what had woken him. Just when he was convinced he'd imagined it and was falling back to sleep, he heard it again. It took him very little time to identify it as knocking, and even less for him to realize that it was coming from his front door. It did not, however, take him any time at all to realize that it was very early in the morning and he was extremely tired.

Managing to climb out of his nice, warm covers without too much difficulty, Sanji decided that since whoever it was at the door was paying a visit at such an uncouth hour they could wait a few more seconds for him to get his bathrobe on. He also decided that if they didn't have a damn good reason for getting him out of bed he'd kick them off his staircase landing and sort the rest of it out in the morning.

While he was stumbling through his dark livingroom, a huge peal of thunder sounded outside and he realized for the first time that the sounds he'd been hearing under the knocking was rain. From the sounds of things there was the makings of a good sized storm outside, making this visitation slightly more concerning. Who would brave this weather at this hour to talk to him instead of simply waiting for a better time? He closed the distance between himself and the door with considerably more speed than before.

"Who is it?" he asked through the heavy wood. He wasn't concerned about the outcome of a possible fight, should there be trouble standing outside, but it never hurt to know who was on the other side of a door before you opened it.

"Sanji, it's me," came an all too familiar voice through a staccato of chattering teeth. Suddenly his fingers couldn't find the lock fast enough and he cursed his lazy pace from earlier. What the hell was she doing out on a night like this? Despite himself, he felt an uneasy twinge in his stomach that something bad had happened and she had been the first one to find out... but no, that was silly. Everyone was fine, everything was fine, and there was an entirely more harmless reason Nami was standing in front of his door in the pouring rain before dawn. His heart still leapt in his chest as he flung the door open and gestured her emphatically inside.

"Wha– Na–" His brain couldn't pick what question to ask first as she shrugged out of her coat, still looking for all the world like a half-drowned cat in her soaking clothing. "Here," he said, putting his robe over her shoulders like a jacket and rushing to his linen closet for some towels. He could ask why she was here after she was warm and dry. "How long were you out there?" He returned with his fluffiest towels and tossed one around her shoulders, rubbing her arms to warm her up.

"Just a few minutes," she chattered through her teeth, "it's really coming down."

As if to punctuate her statement the room was lit spectacularly by lightning from outside and the accompanying jolt of thunder actually vibrated through the floor for a second.

"So what– Why are you here?" he tried again with more success this time.

"Working late, got caught in the rain on the way home."

"That's not like you," was all he could think of to say.

She laughed a little through her shivering. "I know." An uncharacteristically uncomfortable look crossed her features then. "I hope I'm not interrupting something."

Confused, he waited for her to elaborate until he realized all he was wearing was a pair of pajama bottoms and he'd been speaking rather quietly.

"Oh, no no, no one's here," he hastily said, feeling her shiver underneath the towel. "Do you want to take a shower?" It'd been a while since he'd gotten a look quite that blistering from her and it took embarrassingly long for him to figure out why he deserved it. "Oh, no, just to warm up. I'd stay out here," he added to be on the safe side before his sense of humor reared its head and he found himself adding, "unless you _wanted_ me to–"

"I'll go myself, thanks." To his immense relief he did see a smile trying to hide on her face, so he knew he couldn't be in too much hot water. Figuratively speaking, of course.

Sighing in contentment, Nami emerged from the bathroom on a cloud of steam, toweling one side of her hair dry and reveling in the feeling of being warm again. Sanji had left her a spare pair of pajamas, the pants of which she'd had to cuff up several times to keep from dragging on the floor, and had taken her sopping clothing in exchange to dry. She had to admit, even when it swam on her there was nothing quite like the feel of warm, clean clothing after being cold and wet for even a little while. As relaxed and content as she felt at the moment, however, she was still apprehensive about her decision to stop there instead of just going straight home and Sanji's little joke about sharing a shower hadn't helped matters any. Sure, he'd calmed down now that he had a little more experience with women to help keep the hormonally-charged bellows of adoration to a minimum, but underneath he was still the same old Sanji.

_Case in point_, she thought as she took a moment to really look at his decorating choices; only Sanji would have what looked to be a very expensive vase made from Water 7 blown glass, painted with a high carat gold, no less, sitting beneath a velvet painting of cats playing pool. Granted, the instances of chintz were pretty few and far between, and honestly, he somehow managed to make them work. Like the occasional hideous shirt he would show up wearing out of the blue, something horrible with polka dots or clashing colors or obnoxious patterns that he managed to pull off. Something in the sheer hideousness of the piece and the relaxed confidence with which he displayed it combined to somehow make it kind of... attractive. She'd never understand it and had given up trying to a long time ago.

Besides, right now there was a fireplace lit up like a bonfire a few feet away, silhouetting the couch in front of it and the back of the head she saw over the side. Same old Sanji, all right. Still, the fire was nice on a night like tonight, she admitted grudgingly, padding over to the sofa for a warmer view. She stopped at the scene that greeted her, a smile tugging firmly at the corners of her mouth; her head chef sat, reclining against the corner, one arm dangling over the back, the elbow of the other leaning on the armrest, his head resting on that hand and a soft snore escaping his mouth now and again. While she'd been showering, it seemed he'd put on a t-shirt, hung her wet clothes to dry on a chair in front of the fireplace, and made her a cup of cocoa which sat on the coffee table in front of him, steam still rising from the mug.

Sitting gingerly, hoping not to wake him, she listened to the sound of the wind and the rain and the cheery crackling of the fire while she sipped from her mug. She'd missed his cocoa; he always made everything from scratch, shaved the chocolate, melted it down, heated the milk, the works. All the years sailing with him had ruined her tastes for anything less, unfortunately, and now she rarely had the stuff. It was by her own stipulation, of course, but that didn't mean she couldn't still miss it on nights like this.

Another small snore from Sanji distracted her from her thoughts momentarily and she looked over at his slumped form. She couldn't help but smile; he looked about ten years old like that. The poor guy was really out, too, though that wasn't too surprising, considering how late it was. She felt badly about that, waking him up in the middle of the night for something so trivial. If he'd done the same thing to her she wouldn't have let him hear the end of it, and she certainly wouldn't have made cocoa from scratch or let him borrow something dry while his clothes dried, at least not without expecting anything for compensation. Of course, the odds of Sanji showing up on her doorstep at some ungodly hour of the morning in the pouring rain because he didn't have an umbrella were slim to none, anyway, so she supposed it didn't really matter.

The wind outside rattled the windows and Nami felt herself shiver in sympathy. Even as bad as it was out there right then, she knew the storm would blow itself out by morning. In not too much longer her clothes would be dry and she could brave the distance home for what little sleep she could still get that night. By no means looking forward to her impending journey, she burrowed into a blanket she found nearby, most likely left there for her anyway, tucked her feet underneath her and savored the diminishing fire, her cocoa, and the unconscious company at the other end of the couch.

---  
Consciousness came reluctantly, bringing protests from stiff joints and a couple of very cold feet with it and Sanji found himself temporarily blinded by sunlight once he managed to pry his eyes open. Fishing a hand out of the blanket to shade them until they could adjust, his brain sluggishly tried to work out why he was on the couch and why he felt so profoundly disappointed that the chair next to the fireplace was empty. Little pieces of the previous night filtered in as he gingerly worked the stiffness from his protesting limbs and by the time he was alert enough to make himself some breakfast he remembered most of everything. The one thing he didn't remember, he mused over as he sipped his coffee and stirred the contents of a large skillet, was getting himself a blanket.


	4. A Quiet Thing

_AN: Wow, this took me a really long time to get to a point where it was ready to publish. I had most of it already written a while ago, but in the process of filling in the blanks, everything else about it changed, so it was almost a complete rewrite. Add school sucking away just about all my time and energy lately, and I basically hit a major roadblock that took me a while to get over. Sorry for the wait, I hope it was at least worth it. Oh, and I re-uploaded the last chapter a few days ago because I changed two or three lines of dialogue that I liked better. That was it, sorry for any possible confusion. I assure you, this is an all new chapter._

"Happiness comes in on tiptoe  
Well, what do you know  
It's a quiet thing  
A very quiet thing..."  
–Fred Ebb

As the weather grew a bit colder and the days got shorter, business slowed and the staff grew more and more restless with less and less to keep them occupied. The few customers they did get were usually on the less pleasant side, which only increased the staff's frustration and it wasn't too much longer before Nami started cutting people's hours. It was normal for that time of year, but Sanji always felt a little listless with no one to cook for and little else to occupy his time. He'd often spend his lunch breaks on a walk through town, eating a quick something or other from whatever little stands were still open and watching people as they did their shopping, had their lunch dates, and lived their lives.

It was on a particularly cold day, on a bench with a great view of both the ocean and the people milling around, that his lunch routine changed slightly. He was unwrapping his food and looking at a cute girl passing by when he noticed an old couple sitting on the bench across from him. They were usually there around the same time he was, he'd seen them before and never paid them much mind, but for some reason he was struck by them that day. How happy and content they seemed, sitting there together, the man's hand on the woman's shoulder, the woman leaning into the embrace slightly, simply enjoying each other's company. Around them, much younger girls tugged on their boyfriends' arms and pouted about various things they wanted, boyfriends gave long-suffering looks to the sky as they trailed behind their girlfriends, weighed down with bags, one girl ran past in a huff as a young man chased after her spouting apologies, another girl slapped a man next to her for noticing another girl– and the old couple simply sat serenely as it passed them by. Happy. He found himself smiling for no real reason. Maybe lunch tasted a little better than usual that day.

Going back to work with his nose still cold and his mouth slightly burned from coffee heated to the very limit of its ability to remain liquid, he first checked on the large stock pot simmering very slightly, skimming the top and making sure no meddling busboys had touched anything they shouldn't have in his absence. Everything seemed to be just how he'd left it, but he stayed there to examine it for just a few moments longer, feeling a familiar presence at his back.

"Why are you making the same kind of soup as yesterday?" scoffed the petulant thirteen-year-old, peering over the rim of the pot. "Nobody bought any then, either."

With the long-suffering patience borne from years of dealing with idiots who didn't understand cooking at all, he answered. "It's not the same kind of soup. It's the same soup." He then skimmed a little more froth off the top of the liquid while Gary stared in horrified amazement.

"You've been making the same pot of soup for two days??"

Concentrating on getting the last little smidgen of impurities off the soup's surface, Sanji's response took a moment in coming. "Three, actually." He then recovered the pot and went to check on the other things cooking around the room.

"Three days??" Gary practically exploded with indignation. "What kind of fucked up soup needs to cook for three days?? Why would anyone spend THREE DAYS making soup??"

Sanji was quiet as he tasted Daisy's allemande sauce, then nodded his approval before answering. "Why rush for something mediocre when a little patience can give you something worth waiting for?"

Gary, never ceasing to be amazed by the stupidity of some people, stared in horrified fascination at his boss as though he'd just bitten the head off a nearby trout and waltzed around the room with the rest of it. Then in an effort to retain his status as the only sane person on the planet, shook his head and wandered off to go do something meaningful with his time, like read his "secret" stash of underwear catalogues in the stockroom.

"Should we tell him how much people pay for good consomme?" Daisy asked as soon as the teenager was out of earshot.

"I'm more interested in telling him it won't be ready for another day, his head might actually explode." Highly amused, Sanji filled up one of the sinks for someone to wash.

"Oh, yeah," Daisy said as she babied her sauce, "Boss-lady says we're closing early today, since it's costing us more to stay open than our six customers can compensate for. And she wanted to see you when you got back."

Mildly surprised, he checked on his soup again before heading over to the office. As always, he found his partner hunched over the record books with her glasses perched on her nose like a little wire-rimmed gargoyle. She didn't look up as he came in.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, what are you doing tonight?"

He had to stop and think for a moment. "Since we're closing early, nothing, I suppose."

"Well you are now. There's a new place a few blocks over and I'm told they have a dance floor."

When they had the time, Nami usually insisted they personally go check out any new restaurants open in the area in an effort to scope out the competition. Sanji never worried too much about things like that, and he honestly doubted Nami was all that concerned about being driven out of business; he was pretty sure she just liked lording over the other restauranteurs that she had the nicest restaurant on the island and they certainly weren't going to be the ones to knock them off that pedestal. Sanji went along to make sure she didn't get into trouble, to let someone else do the cooking once in a while, and pathetic though it was, so he could pretend that he had a life outside the restaurant for just a little bit. Of course she was usually so busy critiquing the food, the service, the decor, and even the patrons that it was difficult to keep the illusion up, but it was still nice to see her away from work once in a while. The promise of a dance floor may have signaled a potential rival to her, but to him it sounded like a slice of fried heaven.

A few hours later they were cleaned up, dressed up, and being ushered to a seat that only a moment before had probably belonged to someone else. The line to get in was quite long and Nami, never one to wait patiently, had elbowed her way to the front and glared at the hostess icily as she dropped her name, then watched with grim satisfaction as the entire staff went pale as a group and ran around to make accommodations for her. Owning a prestigious and relatively famous restaurant was one thing and some chefs would want to seat such a guest purely on the basis of showing off, but owning half the island on top of it would make any business owner, rival or not, want to impress.

Once again, Sanji found himself trailing in her wake as they were shown to their seats, looking at the impressive stature of the place– the owner had obviously dropped a lot of money into their establishment, recalling the old days of large frilly dresses, grand balls, opulent feasts, and decadence for the sake of decadence. Impressive, certainly, but neither Sanji nor Nami had ever been particularly intimidated by appearance. If they spent half as much money on the quality of the food and their kitchen staff as they had on getting marble pillars and gold leaf inlay on the dance floor, maybe he'd worry a little, but in most cases an elaborate exterior was usually trying to compensate for a lacking interior.

"Well, they're ambitious, I'll give them that."

Nami just harumphed and sipped her water, sulking more than he'd expected. She wasn't seriously intimidated by all this, was she? Before he could ask, their waiter returned with a bottle of expensive champagne in a bucket of ice.

"Compliments of the house," he said with a professional smile as he popped the cork and poured them each a flute. "Would you like another few moments to peruse the menu?"

"What do you recommend?" Nami's test continued in the face of free booze. Sanji just sipped his champagne and watched in mild interest as the waiter recited several dishes that sounded decent enough. Nami ordered for them both which was fine by him and the waiter retreated to the relative safety of the kitchen. Nami drank her champagne and looked less than happy with the world in general, which was puzzling and a little concerning– she normally reveled in the kowtowing staff and complimentary items. She shrugged off his concerned questions, so he switched to light conversation until their entrees arrived while she spent most of her attention on their surrounding, tossing him a cursory noise now and then by way of conversation.

Finally, he put his cutlery down to give her an earnest look. "You can't honestly be threatened by this."

She shot him a look and a raised eyebrow. "I know we're better than them, but how many tourists are going to feel the same way? They have impressive and snooty architecture, live music, a huge dance floor, snooty food, astronomical prices... this place is a yuppie trap if I've ever seen one." She chewed a piece of chicken with a little more grump than one might expect from a beautiful woman in diamond jewelry and a designer evening dress.

"Well they might last, but anyone who knows even the slightest bit about food or the restaurant business isn't going to be fooled by all this fancy stuff and the overpriced menu. I'm honestly not worried, but we could start advertising more, or maybe solicit some food critics to come to the island if you'd like."

She made a face at the suggestions and finished chewing her mouthful. "Ugh, the chicken isn't even dry." Disgusted, she took a healthy swig of champagne and looked like she'd enjoy lighting the place on fire as she poured herself some more.

"I think you're worried over nothing. The place is popular because it's new, but after a while at these prices, only the truly affluent and tasteless will keep this place going."

She sipped her drink, thinking as she stared off into space. "Do you think we should put in a dance floor?" He was quiet for a moment and she looked over to find his hand in front of her face, palm up, as he offered to help her up from her seat.

"No," was his reply through a slight smile. "But we can go test theirs out anyway, just to see what we think."

Not having much of an appetite at the moment, dancing was better than stewing at the table until the check arrived, so she set her glass down and took his hand.

For some reason she was surprised to discover he was a good dancer, perhaps because she'd been out with so many men who weren't lately. It was a nice change, even as she continued to debate the possible need for a dance floor in their place. People liked dance floors. Sure they were a pain, just something else to clean and keep in good repair, plus paying for performers... still, it might help boost their customers... And for the first time in a long time Nami realized she was tired of thinking about the customers and the restaurant. She was actually out with someone who didn't expect anything at the end of the night and who could actually dance without stepping on her toes or bumping into the people around them for once, she needed to just enjoy it while it lasted.

_How the hell did he learn to dance like this, anyway?_ Sophie, probably. She was pretty sure she'd taught him plenty during the course of that relationship. Not that she was complaining; Sanji not only didn't step on her toes, he had the ability to somehow guide her along in such a way that she felt like her steps had been rehearsed hundreds of times, when she really had no idea where her feet would land each time. Where had that goofy, lanky boy she had met on the floating restaurant so many years ago gone? The man looking at her now couldn't possibly be the same one; he would never recite a free verse poem while performing an unbearably cheesy dance move simply to present her with a snack, or loudly lament his woes to the heavens upon discovering she'd changed from her bikini back to her regular clothes. While she'd found the antics amusing most of the time and mildly annoying other times, she had to admit to missing them occasionally. Like some part of his unique Sanji-ness had gotten lost somewhere and he was now that much closer to being like all the other men who'd taken her dancing.

"Can I ask what you're thinking about?" he asked in a low, quiet voice that was nothing like the one she'd just been remembering. He wasn't hurt that she wasn't making much of an effort at conversation with him, but rather concerned about her, his visible eyebrow curled upward in worry. He'd never seemed hurt or frustrated by her lack of interest; good old Sanji was still the same in that respect, anyway.

"Nothing, really. I like this song." Old Sanji would have had an aneurism at having her pressed so close, and probably would have spouted embarrassing platitudes at ear-shattering levels until he passed out. New Sanji wasn't so bad in some ways, really. And he smelled surprisingly nice, too.

"It's nice. I'll have to find out what it is." She didn't doubt that he would. In the meantime, she was content to just dance to it. Still, an impish part of her mind puzzled, she wondered what he'd do if she pressed closer to him, rested her head on his shoulder, sighed breathily in his ear– would he be more like the horny teenage boy or more like the reserved man? And which would she prefer?

The room turned lazily long with their steps, then suddenly swung upward and her view was filled with Sanji's surprised face as he held her tightly. "Are you all right?" Shocked at how uncharacteristically forward it was of him, she slowly began to realize his arms were the only things keeping her up from the floor, her toes pressing limply to the polished wood as he pulled her to a more upright position. She got her feet under her again, forcing her wobbly knees to hold her weight as she pushed him back, needing him to be much farther away from her than he was.

"I'm fine," she replied, making herself mean it, "the champagne went right to my head, that's all." Champagne snuck up on you, everyone knew that. It wasn't like she drank that much anymore, her tolerance had probably gone way down, plus she'd been under so much stress lately. It was hardly surprising her knees had gone out on her then, and his stupid cow look was really annoying and by the time she reached their table their restaurant was under no circumstances ever getting a dance floor and she was going home to soak in a hot bath.

"Nami-san, wait." Sanji was slightly out of breath when he caught up to her, so she knew she could still storm off well on knees made of gelatin.

"I'm fine," she answered curtly before he could ask, "and I'm going home." He gave her that stupid cow look again, as though her wanting to leave was such a surprise after the evening so far. He didn't try to stop her as she left, which was good since she had a variety of silverware at her immediate disposal and was in the mood to use it. She ignored the tiny pang of annoyance that he hadn't tried harder to stop her the entire walk home.

---  
Her mood hadn't improved much since the previous night by the time she went to work and she spent the first half of the day fuming in her office under the pretense of doing more paperwork. Did they really need that many potatoes this time of year? It seemed like too many, but Sanji knew what he needed more than she did. But she'd hate to spend the money to order them and have them go all sprouty and soft in the storeroom before they got used. Then again, it'd be bad if she ordered less and they ran out before the next shipment arrived.

As usual, an ill-timed knock interrupted her. "Nami-san?" Sanji poked his head through the door.

"I'm working," she growled icily, not looking up.

The door opened more and he stepped back into the room. "I know, you've been working all morning."

"So? That's what _most_ people do, Sanji, they work until it's time to go home."

Ignoring her little dig at his working habits, he then asked, "You want to grab some lunch?"

Her pen stopped and for the first time since his entrance, she looked up at him. Slightly slouched, hands in his pockets, a casual half-smile on his face, he stood over by the door waiting for her answer. She surprised herself by saying yes.

The air outside was colder than she'd expected and she pulled her coat collar closer together as Sanji paid for their food. She took the foil-wrapped items from him so he could carry their drinks and they walked along the boardwalk in mostly comfortable silence until reaching a row of benches. The place was mostly empty that day, just a few people shopping at the nearby market, some seagulls landing hopefully nearby as they unwrapped their lunches, and an old couple sitting at a bench across from them. Later she'd have claimed that it was because it was cold out, but at the time she hadn't thought about how close to him she sat, even with the whole bench free. He didn't seem to notice. They ate their lunch in silence, listening to the waves, Sanji feeding part of his sandwich to the birds as they encroached, Nami quietly wondering why Sanji ate lunch from that place every day when their food wasn't that good, and both took their time finishing their tea. When it was time to go, he stood and offered her a hand up. She stood on her own and started back toward the restaurant, trusting him to catch up as he always did. At the door she paused and looked back at him.

"Friday. Pick me up at seven, take me somewhere nice."

He nodded. "Okay."

Then they went inside, picked up working where they'd left off, and did their best to pretend that they hadn't just completely changed a relationship of ten years with eleven words.


End file.
